


Act of Worship

by StackerPentecost



Category: Pilgrimage (2017)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bathing/Washing, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Mild Blood, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:42:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24396736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StackerPentecost/pseuds/StackerPentecost
Summary: Even the most mundane of tasks can become an act of worship between the right people.
Relationships: Brother Diarmuid/The Mute
Comments: 3
Kudos: 41





	Act of Worship

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently I can't write anything lately without including smut of some sort. I was also picturing the Mute as looking more like Jon does as Sam Rossi in Sweet Virginia or Frank Castle at the beginning of s1 of the Punisher. Just lots of curls and the full on mountain man beard.

Diarmuid had been tending his garden when he heard the shout, his hands sunken into the earth as he pulled out a pesky weed. He dropped the offending plant as soon as the sound pierced the air. He knew what that sound was, knew who it was coming from better than he knew himself. He took a second to locate where the sound was emanating from before taking off into the trees. 

David had been gone most of the day, but that was normal. Today was the day they went to town, roughly the same day about once every month, taking the time to stock up on things they could not grow or make themselves. This time David had gone alone, as Diarmuid had wanted to spend more time taking care of his garden and working the land. He felt he had been neglecting this for other duties and decided to get back to what he’d been allowing to lapse. 

But the shout Diarmuid had heard had definitely come from David and he clearly needed help. Diarmuid dashed through the trees, weaving through the trunks and over brambles, his heart pounding in his chest, the sound of his blood rushing in his ears. 

Even as the sound went quiet, Diarmuid kept moving, feeling as though his heart was leading him in the correct direction. He’d find David no matter what the circumstance, be it in the dead of night or in the middle of an endless ocean. 

And he was right too, nearly barreling into the other man as he was searching. Diarmuid let out a sound of surprise upon seeing David, his heart clenching at the state he was in. 

David stumbled back, his eyes bleary and unfocused. He was panting, blood smeared across his cheeks and forehead, some sticking in his hair. His hands were coated with dirt as though he’d been the one gardening, though Diarmuid noticed there was crimson under his fingernails as well. His tunic was torn in several places and also splattered with blood. He was leaning against a tree, his shoulder resting against the bark. The hilt of his sword was clenched in one fist, trembling slightly. He was about to swing the sword when his eyes landed on Diarmuid and he let out a shuddering exhale. 

Diarmuid stayed back until David’s body language relaxed, then took a careful step forward. “What happened?” 

He received a grunt that Diarmuid took to mean that whatever happened was nothing good. 

Diarmuid reached out a careful hand to rest on David’s shoulder and was relieved when David didn’t shy away from his touch. “Come on,” Diarmuid urged softly, “let’s get you home.”

David blinked at him a moment before giving a single nod, allowing Diarmuid to shoulder some of his weight as they made their way through the trees back toward their homestead. 

His gardening forgotten, Diarmuid led David inside their small home, making sure he was settled in a chair before hurrying back out with a bucket in hand to the little well that was on their land. David had dug it himself a few seasons ago and Diarmuid quickly lowered the bucket down into its depths before pulling it back up, water sloshing over its top. He then carried the full pail back to the house. 

David hadn’t moved much since Diarmuid had departed, though he had set his sword down on the floor beside him. Diarmuid passed him as he moved to pour the water into the wooden tub they used for bathing. As soon as David saw what Diarmuid was doing, he made a sound of protest. 

Diarmuid shot him a look. “You look like you rolled in filth and you smell it too. You need a bath and we’ve been meaning to take care of your hair for a while now so that’s what we’ll do.”

David stared him a moment before letting out a begrudging huff and rising, crossing over to where Diarmuid stood. 

Diarmuid swallowed and tried not to blush as David began to undress. He had seen the other man naked many times since they first met, but he still couldn’t help the way he found himself feeling embarrassed and a little self-conscious. It had been ingrained in him for years to avert his eyes and preserve modesty as much as he could. Even though he was no longer a monk and now very much free to look at David however much he pleased, it was still a habit of his that he should feel almost ashamed. One of his brothers had noticed his wandering eyes, how he often gazed at other men in a way he shouldn’t and though his fellow monk could have reprimanded him, he instead counseled him as best he could and Diarmuid still keenly felt those lessons on how he was to keep himself pure and without such sinful thoughts clouding his head. 

Diarmuid was brought back to the present by the feeling of a calloused hand cupping his chin, the touch considerate and kind, as it always was, though it came from a man who possessed much strength and knew how to use it. Before he had a chance to look up, Diarmuid felt a press of soft lips against his forehead, David’s beard tickling against his skin. Diarmuid’s heart thumped in his chest and he couldn’t help the small smile that came to his lips. 

When David stepped back, Diarmuid didn’t feel quite so embarrassed about looking at his naked form, instead retrieving an old ceramic jug and a cloth. He knelt beside the other man as he settled in the tub, allowing David to fill the jug and pour the water over himself, the liquid traveling down his body in rivulets. The water wasn’t exactly warm but David didn’t seem to mind. Diarmuid first focused on David’s hair, massaging his fingers through the curls to help get some of the dirt and blood loose. In the last few months, David’s hair had grown longer and so had his beard, the curls even wilder than before and the beard long enough that Diarmuid occasionally pulled on it just to poke fun at his lover for not being as prudent about his grooming. The muck soon came out of the dark hair, beginning to stain the once-clear water a rusty color. 

Diarmuid moved on then, gentle hands wiping away the crimson from David’s features before beginning to scrub the mud from his arms. He took careful time cleaning the man’s hands, making sure to get the backs and between his fingers. Once he finished with one hand, he pressed a kiss to the rough skin before moving to the other and giving it the same treatment. 

He went for his chest next, wiping away dirt and grime. He swallowed when David stood up, the water trailing down his body. He was still on his knees and very aware of what part of David’s anatomy what he was eye level with. David, for his part, had little shame regarding anything, so he was relatively unfazed to say the least. As Diarmuid got back to his task, a single thought slipped into his mind.

_ This is the altar I worship at now. I get on my knees for him and him alone. _

The thought sent a chill down Diarmuid’s spine and oddly enough, it is an almost comforting thought. He doesn’t know whether his love for David makes him a heathen or a saint, and maybe the answer is neither, but he does know it keeps him warm at night and in times of struggle and gives him a sense of peace he had never known before. 

So, as he finished his task, deeming the other man finally clean, Diarmuid couldn’t hold himself back as he leaned to press a kiss to the soft flesh of David’s cock, his hands coming up to touch David’s thighs in an almost reverent way. 

When Diarmuid moved back and gazed up at David, the look David was giving him made his stomach flip nervously. 

Diarmuid rose, biting his lip as he watched David step from the tub, not a hint of shame in his eyes or his body language, his heated gaze firmly locked on Diarmuid. He approached slowly until Diarmuid found himself pressed against the side of their bed. 

Diarmuid could feel the hard planes of David’s body against his own, Diarmuid’s clothing sticking to his skin. David’s mouth hovered near his neck, his breathing somehow perfectly even despite the fact that his companion’s breath was stuttering. The words that were spoken were soft, almost a growl, “You look at me as though I am the Savior himself.”

Diarmuid’s eyes met David’s. “Being with you is an act of worship.”

David’s hands settled on Diarmuid’s hips, pulling him close as their lips met. Diarmuid groaned against his mouth, feeling David’s manhood hardening against him. David’s fingers easily untied the strings to Diarmuid’s breeches, pleased when they slipped down his hips, the big man’s hands splaying across creamy, freckled skin. The tunic came off next and soon Diarmuid was as bare as his partner. 

When their lips parted, Diarmuid’s cheeks were a healthy shade of pink, the flush creeping down over his chest. David’s hands guided him onto the bed before he followed. They laid on their sides, facing each other, only able to keep their hands off each other for a moment before they were pressing close again. David slid a hand down Diarmuid’s thigh, giving a squeeze before he settled Diarmuid’s leg over his own hip. The other man colored, even more, when David’s hand found his backside, those fingers tracing along his most intimate areas. 

Diarmuid enjoyed the way David continued to kiss him, even as they explored each other, his beard rubbing pleasantly against his skin. When those thick fingers brushed against his lips, asking for entrance, he obliged, opening his mouth and lapping at those digits, the feeling enough to produce a groan from David. 

Soon though, it was Diarmuid that was groaning as David slowly opened him up. He leaned into David, grinding down against his hand, his eyes squeezed shut. He held onto David as the bigger man replaced his fingers with his cock, his blunt nails digging into David’s back as they began to move in sync. Diarmuid opened his eyes to find David gazing at him again, heat and lust visible but also more than that, his expression one of reverence and love. Diarmuid hoped David could see the same emotions reflected in his own features. 

They moved as though they shared one body, bodies so entwined that it was hard to tell where one man ended and the other began. David held Diarmuid as close as he could, feeling the young man’s heart beat beneath his fingertips. Diarmuid responded to every touch, every kiss, the sound of his moans filling the room. He knew he would never tire of this, never tire of David, of being with him and getting to feel him like this, something he could never have imagined having not so long ago. A thought came to him, unbidden. 

This, being with David, made him feel closer to God than any amount of prayer. 

Diarmuid let out a soft cry when David took hold of his cock, that big hand on him turning all his thoughts to smoke. All he could think about was how perfect he felt, how good David was at this, and how he could feel himself teetering on the edge. 

One last kiss from David, that was all it took. One more kiss and he was spilling in David’s hand as the other man swallowed down his moans. David soon followed, a deep groan echoing through the room as his body shuddered against Diarmuid’s. 

Diarmuid cracked an eye open after several quiet moments. He was met with David’s welcoming gaze before his partner leaned in to press a kiss to his head. This time, as David’s beard tickled his skin once more, Diarmuid couldn’t help the soft laugh that came from his lips. “We were supposed to take care of this,” He reminded, lifting his head and reaching to tug on David’s beard. All he got in a response with a bit of an impish smile. Diarmuid didn’t have the heart to be truly annoyed as the beard could be dealt with another day. Right now, he was perfectly happy where he was. He was warm and contented, sated, and pleased. Just how he would have felt after a morning spent studying at the monastery, the same sort of peace settling itself around him. 

Diarmuid nuzzled against the curve of David’s neck and let out a soft sigh, feeling the other man’s arm slip around his waist. He closed his eyes again, sleep calling to him. The last thing he recalled before he slipped under was the steady sound of David’s pulse thrumming in his ear. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm saintaleksander on Tumblr.


End file.
